Menu

Six Sentence Sunday #5

Spurs jangled behind her. Before her a low communal grunt, heavy with hope and longing, rumbled through the crowd. The miners swayed forward as one. The padded end of a staff tapped Willow’s back, prodding with careful but firm insistence. Despite the chill in the morning air, a sudden sweat ran down her neck, trickling between her breasts, dampening the flowers she clutched there. Off to her right Acre choked back a sob.